


Insomnia

by TheObsidianSun12



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Avengers (2012), Team Bonding, The Avengers live in Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsidianSun12/pseuds/TheObsidianSun12
Summary: Every Avenger has a reason that they cannot sleep at night, whether it be past trauma or fears for the future.  Over the course of one week, all those issues come to light, and they attempt to find support in one another.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson & Thor, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Thor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place (and will be posted) over the duration of one week, and each section will focus on a specific character being helped by another. Coulson is included.

_Tony had to get the missile away from the city. He had to protect the millions of civilians currently trapped in a warzone, surrounded by aliens and oblivious to the nuclear fate the government had sentenced them to._

_“JARVIS, full power to thrusters.”_

_The missile in his arms tilted up, up, up until it was aimed right for the portal in the sky. Tony shot through it, his call to Pepper ringing out._

_Silence._

_Ahead of him was an alien warship, countless alien beasts streaming out into the vacuum of space, undeterred by the lack of air. The missile slipped from his hands and rocketed towards them._

_Tony’s HUD darkened. There was a bright white light, a blossom of flame from the mothership, blinding him._

_It was cold. He couldn’t breathe. JARVIS was gone, his power was gone, and now…_

_He was falling, tumbling out of control._

_Above him space, below him sky._

_He was falling, falling, falling…_

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Tony shocked awake, clutching at the blankets tangled around his legs. Ever since the Chitauri invasion three months ago, the nightmares had been reoccurring. Every time, he was staring up into the oncoming alien horde, falling back to Earth as the portal closed.

He had never once landed.

Sighing, Tony rubbed his eyes and sat up. Now that he was awake, there was no sense laying prone in his bed, since there was no way he would fall back asleep. He never could.

Slipping out from under the covers, Tony threw on a pair of sweatpants and a Black Sabbath T-shirt before travelling from his room to the kitchen. What he needed right now was some coffee, preferably so caffeinated that he wouldn’t need to sleep for a week.

Tony reached the kitchen and dumped the coffee grounds into the filter. While he filled the pot with water, he allowed his mind to wander to his newest suit upgrade.

If he were to change the direction of energy flow from his arc reactor, he could probably increase output to thrusters by fifty percent. However, that would require a recalibration of his repulsor settings, which meant creating a new algorithm. It wouldn’t take more than a few hours, provided he started on it now-

_Falling into an empty void, no control, darkness encroaching…_

The coffee pot clattered out of his hands and into the sink, splashing water both on the counter and Tony.

“Shit,” Tony muttered, snatching a roll of paper towels to attempt to clean up the mess he had made.

It took a few minutes to dry off the countertop sufficiently, and finally, the coffee began to brew. The scent of sweet, _glorious_ coffee began to waft through the air, making Tony more alert to the Asgardian approaching from the balcony area.

“Hey, Point Break,” Tony greeted. “How’re things in Asgard?”

“Loki has been put in a holding cell and awaits the verdict on his punishment. After what he did on Asgard and later, Midgard, I do not believe the Allfather will be lenient with his sentence,” Thor replied. He paused, cocking his head to study Tony. “Does something bother you?”

“Nah. It’s all good.” Tony plastered a smile he wasn’t really feeling on his face. “Just wanted to get an early start, y’know?”

Thor raised an eyebrow. “Stark, I am not blind. I can tell that sleep evades you, and I only wish to aid you to the best of my abilities.”

“Really, I’m fine-”

“Then you would not mind returning to your quarters to rest further?”

Tony froze, and he could see Thor’s eyes widen in concern. He couldn’t go back to his room, to the dark, to the dreams of falling, a never-ending drop-

“Stark?”

When Tony didn’t respond, Thor grasped Tony’s shoulder and gently shook him. Still nothing. Tony only loosened when the Asgardian wrapped his arms around Tony’s torso and held him close to his chest.

“Um… Thor? What are you doing?”

“You seemed to require physical comfort. Lady Jane informed me that a hug is appropriate in these circumstances. Did that aid your panic?” Thor released his hold just slightly, pulling away so that he could see Tony’s face.

Tony smiled, a small, sheepish smile. “A little bit.”

“Wonderful! Now, shall we sit?” Gently, Thor took Tony’s arm and tugged him towards the sitting area. Tony got the sense that he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

“Now, Stark.” Thor settled himself and Tony on the couch, close enough that Thor’s knee was pressed against Tony’s – an anchor point. “We do not have to discuss matters, if that is what you wish. However, I desire to know how I may help.”

Tony realized he was tapping his fingers on his leg, and made a conscious effort to still himself. Taking one, two, three deep breaths to calm down, Tony stated, “I don’t think- I don’t want to be alone, now.”

Thor smiled. “Very well!” he announced. He wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him flush to his torso. Tony released a muffled “oof” as his face was pressed into the Asgardian’s chest.

“Rest well, Stark,” Thor murmured, gently cording his fingers through Tony’s hair. Tony, much to his own surprise, found the gesture soothing.

The fleeting thought of Pepper’s reaction to finding out he had cuddled with a god quickly faded as Tony dropped into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Thor would be big on physical affection, and it would take some getting used to.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	2. Tuesday

_Crashing. Sparks. Footsteps pounding behind her._

_Natasha ran, no destination in mind save for “anywhere but here”. She was in danger. She needed to get out before he caught her, before_ they _caught her._

_Glancing back, Natasha saw flashes of green and brown. Then black-clad soldiers. Then her victims, scarlet blood gushing from their heads, their throats, their hearts. They lumbered towards her, calling out her sins, demanding she join them._

_She sped up._

_The ground was growing slick, and before she could compensate, she slipped, her hands splashing into crimson liquid. When she pulled them out, they were stained red, dyed by blood._

_Natasha stood, but when she attempted to run again, hands closed around her arms, her ankles, preventing her from doing so. The red tide kept rising around her._

_Her victims circled her, crowding her, pressing in all around her and making it hard to breathe. One leaned in close, hissing in her ear as she struggled against the those restraining her arms and legs._

_“You will never outrun what you did to us.”_

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Natasha awoke in a cold sweat. She kicked her sheets to the foot of her bed and stood, pacing the length of her bedroom. She clenched her hands into fists to prevent them from shaking.

She needed to calm down. None of what she had seen was real. She couldn’t let herself break, even though no one was around. She was the Black Widow, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., member of the Avengers. She needed to be strong. She needed…

She needed some fresh air.

Quietly leaving her room, Natasha made her way out of her room and through the sitting area to the balcony. The brisk autumn air whipped her hair around her face, and she briefly regretted not tying her hair up before coming out. Regardless, the cool breeze was nice, helping to wash away any remaining traces of distress following her nightmare.

Natasha leaned against the railing and stared out at the Manhattan skyline. It was a lot prettier at night that it was during the day, with the metallic gray structures being replaced by dots of light against the darkness. Almost like the city itself reflected the night sky.

It was almost beautiful enough to make her forget why she had come out here in the first place.

Almost.

When she had admitted she had red in her ledger and wanted to wipe it out, she hadn’t expected to dredge up all sorts of memories long thought buried. Memories of those she had killed while working for the Red Room, the KGB, even for S.H.I.E.L.D., if she was honest. Which she rarely was.

She needed to clear her mind.

Natasha slowly inhaled, then exhaled, focusing her mind on the patches of light dotting the buildings in front of her. Trying to replace the horrors of her mind with something a bit more… _picturesque_.

It was then that she noticed the sound of soft footsteps behind her. Natasha recognized their gait immediately. _Bruce_. Slowly, she turned, finding him approaching her with a mug of what smelled like coffee in each hand. He offered one to her.

“It’s pretty early, and I know you usually drink some in the morning. I mean, I was already up, so…”

Natasha accepted the mug, a smile pulling at her lips as the heat leeched into her hands. “Thanks.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

They lapsed into silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bruce shifting uncomfortably beside her. When she had first been sent to collect him, she hadn’t been sure what to think. From what General Ross had said, Bruce was nothing short of a monster, but in the time Natasha had spent with him, she could tell he was anything but. He’d rapidly grown to be an important part of her little “family”.

It was nice, Natasha mused, to not be alone. In the past few months, she had started to trust her band of misfits, and, she’d admit, grown fond of them. She still wasn’t willing to open herself up enough to tell them that, but she had to hope they would figure it out.

“I can leave, if you want-” Bruce began, fidgeting with his hands.

“No.” Bruce flinched, and Natasha realized that the word had come out sharper than she had intended. “No, you don’t have to go.”

“Alright.” He settled against the railing next to her. “Do you want to talk about why you’re out here, or…” Bruce trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

“Not really, no.” Natasha trusted Bruce wouldn’t push the issue. _It’s my burden to bear. Not yours._

“Okay.” Bruce paused, seeming to consider something, before adding, “Just know I’m here, if you ever want to talk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence fell once more, but it was comfortable, not awkward. She took solace in his presence, in simply _existing_ , with one of the closest people she had to family.

Leaning against the balcony railing, the two of them watched the sun rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	3. Wednesday

_It was an out-of-body experience._

_That’s all Clint could think as he fought Natasha in the bowels of the Helicarrier. He had no control over his own movements. It was as if he was a puppet,_ Loki’s _puppet, on a string. He was aware of everything happening around him, but could in no way change his actions._

_The fight was… familiar, in a way. They knew each other’s moves forward and backward, well enough that both of them could counter without thinking. Clint struggled against the wall blocking him from his own mind, but to no avail. Whatever hold Loki had over him was too strong._

_He deflected a blow Natasha aimed at his face and retaliated with a kick to the stomach. It landed, and Natasha stumbled backwards, off balance. She didn’t have time to recover before Clint slipped a knife out of his belt threw it at her._

No! _Clint yelled, but he was helpless._

_The knife hit home in Natasha’s stomach._

_She crumpled forward, looking up at Clint with defeated eyes. She coughed, and blood trickled out of her mouth, dripping onto the floor._

_“I’m sorry, Clint,” she murmured._

_Clint screamed at himself, but his body didn’t listen. He pulled out the knife embedded in Natasha’s torso and slit her throat._

_Then, and only then, did he regain control._

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Clint awoke with a strangled sob. He swiped at the tears that were blurring his vision.

_It wasn’t real. It was just a dream_.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and held his head in his hands. _It’s not real_ , he repeated to himself, like a mantra. _Natasha’s alive. You didn’t kill her._

The rational part of his mind knew that was true. He’d seen her the night before, watching with a judging look as he absolutely _destroyed_ Tony in _Guitar Hero_ (not to brag, of course). She had been alive and well.

But the emotional part of his brain still required reassurance.

“Y’know what? Fine. _Fine_ ,” he muttered, sliding on the purple slippers beside his bed. “I’ll go check on her, _brain_ , if that’s what you need.”

Clint approached his door and opened it quietly. As he exited, he stepped right into Natasha.

“Hey, Clint,” she greeted, as though standing right outside his door in the middle of the night were perfectly normal (it wasn’t). “You alright?”

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He had not expected _that_ to be the first thing out of his mouth. It was _true_ , but not what he thought he was going to say.

Natasha studied Clint with concern. “Do we need to talk about something?”

“Yeah...” Clint drummed his fingers on the doorframe, trying to calm down. “Can you squeeze me into your schedule?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I can.”

Clint beckoned her into his room, and the two of them sat on his bed, legs crossed. They were silent for a moment before Clint realized that he was probably the one who should start talking.

“I had a nightmare,” he confessed. He couldn’t look at Natasha.

“And…?” Natasha prompted.

“It was about Loki. Him controlling me.” Clint stopped to clear his throat. “He… he was in my head. He forced me to _kill you_ , Nat. I just…” He drummed his fingers on his knee, unable to find the words.

“Clint.” Natasha reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it steady against his knee. “I’m fine. _We’re_ fine. Don’t blame yourself for something that never happened.”

“But I _killed_ you, Nat. And he made me _watch_.”

“ _Clint_.”

Clint tried to fight against it, but he felt himself crumble. He curled forward, and he could feel Natasha wrap her arms around him and pull him close to her. He started crying, and Natasha just held him, not judging, just rubbing her hand up and down his back.

It was a few minutes before he was able to collect himself and pull away. “Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Natasha rolled her shoulders, stretching. “But let’s be honest, Clint, in a one-on-one fight, I would beat you. I did, three months ago. Simply put, I’m a better fighter.” There was a hint of humor in her voice, paired with challenge. Was she… _goading_ him?

Regardless of her intent, it was working.

“Hey, I resent that. I _have_ beat you in a fight before.”

“Name a time. C’mon, I’ll wait.” Clint opened his mouth to speak, and Natasha added, “And you _can’t_ include a time where you fought dirty.”

“Does _biting_ count as fighting dirty? Because if so, _you’ve_ fought dirty a lot more than I have.”

“Biting is a combat tactic, Clint, and just because I beat you to the punch doesn’t mean it’s illegal.”

“It’s illegal in MMA, so therefore…”

They continued to bicker, and it gradually dawned on Clint that Natasha was intentionally redirecting him, offering him distraction in a conversation with a lighter tone. He recognized it because it was what _he_ did when she was getting all dark and broody. And it was working.

Eventually, Natasha cut off their light-hearted argument by flopping back onto his bed and asking, “So, what do you want to do? As much as I love to argue with you, there must be _something_ more productive for us.”

Clint barely had to think before declaring, “Mario Kart. You and me.”

“You really think you can beat me?” Natasha smirked. “You’re looking at the reigning champion.”

“Bring it on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	4. Thursday

_Asgard was burning._

_Black smoke painted the skies, covering the once bright kingdom in a haze. Flames billowed up from buildings all across the skyline, the flames flickering hungrily as they turned the once-great civilization to ruins._

_The Asgardians screamed and huddled together as fate befell them, unable to outpace the fire racing towards them. And there was laughter. Laughter, both a feminine cackle and a bellowing, masculine chuckle, echoed through the air, setting Thor’s nerves alight with rage._

_Thor was helpless to do anything but watch, as the land he was destined to rule, the land he had sworn to protect, burned to the ground._

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

When Thor awoke, he ripped the blankets covering his body away and stood, trying to ignore the slight trembling in his legs. Asgard’s fall… after Loki, his own _brother_ , had tried to destroy it, this nightmare, and the fire and brimstone accompanying it, had plagued him.

He was used to being strong, _powerful_ , a being those around him could look up to. Even among his fellow Avengers, he was the strongest. But the sense of helplessness in his dreams surprised him each time.

The fact that the nightmare was reoccurring prompted no shortage of musings. The Norns were known to plague heroes with prophetic dreams, either telling tales of their triumphs or demise. But the idea of plaguing a hero with their failures, whether past or future… that was nothing he had ever heard.

Thor shook his head to clear his thoughts, his long blond hair plastering itself to his forehead, damp with sweat. It would do him no good to dwell on the machinations of fate. He needed to get some fresh air and banish his nightmare from his mind.

Without much thought, Thor found himself on the balcony, rain pouring from the sky and drenching his clothes, soaking him to the bone. Thor loved the rain, being the “God of Thunder” and all, but it was something about the water dripping down his face and the sound of the drops splashing into puddles that really made him feel grounded.

He stood in the rain for a long while before his nightmare began creeping back. The fire, the screams, the laughter… it haunted him. He tilted his head back to let the water wash away the memories (or prophecies) but it achieved nothing.

Why had he not saved them? Why had he just stood and watched as his homeland burned? How could he have done _nothing_?

“It’s coming down pretty hard. Are you sure you don’t want an umbrella?”

Thor turned to find Agent Coulson standing in the rain behind him, a small smile on his face as the umbrella clutched in his right hand shielded him from the rain. His face was worn, and a trace of exhaustion could be found lurking in the depths of his eyes.

“Coulson,” Thor greeted. “What has caused you to be out so late?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. business. Mostly logistics and such.” Coulson approached Thor’s position and leaned his back against the railing in order to continue to face Thor. “I could ask you the same question.”

Thor gazed up at the storm clouds above, watching the lightning flash between the cumulonimbi. “Sometimes, I wonder why the Norns would show a man what he desires not.”

“Nightmare, huh?”

“If fate played a hand, then a premonition.” Thor lowered his head to stare Coulson straight in the eyes. “Asgard burned, my people were dying, yet I did nothing.”

Coulson looked up at Thor with a hint of confusion in his eyes. “I can assure you, that’s no prediction of the future.”

“How can you be sure?”

Clasping a hand on Thor’s shoulder, Coulson began to speak. “Because of what you did in New Mexico. You were without your hammer, without your power, and you stood up to an Asgardian robot with the power to destroy the planet. You would never stand idly by as innocents were being threatened, especially not your people. Sometimes, nightmares are just that. Nightmares.”

Thor felt the reality of Coulson’s words sink in. He could not think of one situation, one moment, in which he would allow anyone to suffer, whether a resident of Asgard or Midgard, if something could be done to stop it. A few days prior, he had even helped Stark cope with a nightmare of his own.

Perhaps Coulson was right. Perhaps it could all be marked down to an overactive imagination and not the manipulations of the Norns.

“Let’s head inside,” Coulson prompted. “I’m not sure about you, but I really need some sleep.”

“Very well.” Thor watched Coulson turn to the door. “Thank you, Coulson.”

“It’s nothing.” A smile played at the corner of Coulson’s mouth. “Consider it a ‘thanks’ for New Mexico.”

Thor allowed a smile to break across his face. “Then I accept your thanks.”

Coulson released a breath of laughter before returning to the tower interior. Thor lingered in the rain a moment longer before following him.

Fate may be a fickle thing, but it was no use dwelling on what could not be controlled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the nightmare scene is taken directly from Thor: Ragnarok, and Coulson references events from Thor, so all rights to Marvel Studios or whatever. And the Norse mythology is a little bit stretched, so please, cut me some slack.  
> Honestly, writing Thor is just hard for me. His character, especially in the early movies, is just so hard to define, and his speech patterns… don’t even get me started. I hope I did him justice.  
> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	5. Friday

_Gunshots and shouts, flashes of movement and bright bursts of light._

_An echoed scream, cut short._

_Silence._

_In Bruce’s opinion, the silence was the worst part._

_He tried to look around, but a gray cloud of dust was blocking his vision, so thick he felt he was choking on it. All he could make out was the rubble surrounding him, and a hulking figure lurking in the shadows._

_Bruce tentatively approached the figure, hoping he was wrong. Praying he wasn’t about to bear witness to something he always feared would come to pass, but swore never would._

_The fog faded, leaving Bruce with an unobstructed view of the carnage before him._

_The bodies of the Avengers, of those he would consider friends, lay broken, the blacks, golds, and blues of their uniforms drenched in red. Steve’s shield had shattered, and Tony’s helmet lay discarded in front of him, crushed into a useless ball of metal. The Hulk stood in the middle of it all, blood dripping from his hands._

_He turned to Bruce, and he smiled._

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Bruce’s eyes snapped open, his breathing harsh. The heart rate monitor on his wrist was screaming at him, the shrill noise not helping his nerves. He needed to calm down, or his nightmare would come to pass. Deep breaths, he needed to take deep breaths…

But his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The room was suffocating him. He had to get out of there, leave the room, leave the whole _tower_. He was a monster, the team was crazy to let him join and even crazier to let him stay. They would be better off without him.

Bruce slid the always-packed bag out from under his bed and slung it over his shoulder. He should go. Now. It would be easier on them if he disappeared into the night without a trace. They wouldn’t miss him, anyway. He’d just have to leave a note telling them not to look for him.

Mind made up, Bruce slipped out of his room, fully intent on leaving the tower and not coming back. He scribbled out a note and left it on the kitchen counter, then stood by the elevator, waiting for it to come to his floor.

When the doors hissed open, he expected to be greeted by an empty car.

What he was _not_ expecting was for Steve Rogers, Captain America _himself_ , to be standing there, slightly sweaty and very much so exhausted.

“Oh. Hey, Bruce.” Steve smiled tiredly. “How are you doing?”

Bruce didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was afraid that if he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He offered Steve a pained smile, hoping this exchange would be over fast.

Steve’s eyes drifted to Bruce’s bag. His brow furrowed before asking, “Where are you going?” There was no anger behind the question, just simple curiosity.

“I’m leaving,” Bruce admitted.

“Why?” Again, Steve didn’t seem to be pressuring him into giving an answer, but just asking a question.

“Because none of you are safe while I’m around.”

Silence, just a beat, long enough for Bruce to regret saying anything. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce interrupted before he could.

“Please, Steve, don’t try to stop me from leaving.”

“Just… hear me out,” Steve requested. “If you still want to leave after, I won’t stop you. I promise.”

“…Fine.”

Bruce entered the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor, standing awkwardly next to Steve. It was a moment before the doors closed and the super soldier began to speak.

“You’re leaving because you don’t want to hurt us,” Steve stated. Bruce could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “But if something were to go wrong, Avenger’s Tower is where you’d do the least damage. We’re a Norse god, a man in a suit more technologically advanced than I’d ever hope to understand, two master assassins who are quite good at taking care of themselves, and a super soldier. Sure, we can be loud, and rash, and sometimes rude, but we’re probably the most equipped of anyone in the word to handle the Hulk.”

“I could hurt you,” Bruce argued. “The Other Guy doesn’t hold back.”

“We’re a resilient bunch, Bruce, we can take it. We survived an alien invasion, you know.” Steve’s joking tone abruptly turned serious. “I trust you, Bruce. I know that you would never hurt any of us of your own accord, whether the Hulk is in control or not. But if you feel that leaving is the best choice, I won’t argue with you. Just make sure it’s the right choice for you.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Bruce stepped out, leaving Steve alone in the elevator. He was halfway across the floor when he hesitated and turned back.

Steve’s trust in him… that wasn’t something he expected. The same for the rest of the team. But if they believed in him, then maybe, just maybe, he should cut himself some slack and believe in himself, too.

A tall order, but an order he could attempt.

“Bruce?” Steve’s voice was tentative, and Bruce could sense him approaching. “Are you okay?”

Bruce turned to him, a small smile on his face.

“I think I’m going to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	6. Saturday

_Coulson was dying. That, he knew._

_He had trained the aptly-named “Destroyer Gun” on Loki, ordering the Norse god to move away from the panel that would drop Thor hundreds of feet, possibly to his death. Loki had retreated, seemingly shocked into submission._

_At least, until Coulson felt a cold metal scepter pierce his back._

_He glanced down, seeing the blood-stained tip protruding from his chest. Thor’s anguished yell was muted. Everything was numb, but Coulson almost would have preferred a burning pain, anything to tell him that what had been done could be fixed._

_When Loki retracted his scepter, Coulson sunk to the ground, panting for air as his vision blurred. He couldn’t die, not now. Not knowing what Loki could do,_ would do _, without anyone in any position to stop him._

_But it was too late._

_His breaths grew more labored. He faintly remembered blasting Loki with the gun, Fury approaching him, ordering him to stay alive._

_But Coulson knew he was too far gone. His vision tunneled, his awareness shrinking to the harsh, ragged breathing scraping his lungs. He was cold, so cold. This was the end for him, wasn’t it? He tried to make his peace with that, but it was hard, so hard…_

_Everything went black._

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Coulson found his perception yanked back into his body with a jolt, and he found himself clutching at his chest, where Loki’s scepter had stabbed him through. Even after a few months, the wound hadn’t completely healed, leaving him in a less field-oriented position. Or, as Stark had less-than-kindly stated, as a “glorified nanny.” Not that Coulson could argue with the truth of the statement.

Grudgingly, he sat up, thankful that any fitful tossing and turning he had done had not caused him to a) agitate his wound, or b) fall off the couch he was laying on. He usually would have gone up to the Helicarrier, or at least the S.H.I.E.L.D. barracks, but he was exhausted and couldn’t bring himself to make the trek across town.

Thus, he had crashed on a couch on the main living area of Avengers Tower, hoping for at least a few hours of restful sleep before heading back to yet more inquiries about his health following his most recent brush with death.

If he was going to make it through that, he was _definitely_ going to need some sleep. And since it seemed that sleep was not going to find him tonight, he would just have to load up on whatever caffeinated drinks Stark had present in the tower and hope it would be enough to let him power through the next day.

He glanced over at the kitchen to find it occupied, watching as Clint rifled through the fridge before emerging triumphantly with a box of leftover pizza. Clint grabbed what looked like a full pot of coffee off the coffeemaker and carried it and the pizza to the living area, setting it down and flopping on the couch next to Coulson before realizing the older man was there.

“Jesus Christ!” Clint exclaimed. “Warn a guy before you sneak up on him like that.”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Show some respect to a superior officer. I was here first, you know.”

“Sorry.” Clint’s voice became and exaggerated model of respect. “Oh my God, sir, I didn’t know you were there. You have my most sincere apologies for any mishaps that I may have caused by my sudden appearance.”

“Better,” Coulson smiled. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, you know,” Clint feigned nonchalance. “I was hungry, and decided I needed coffee and pizza to fuel the remainder of my late-night _The Office_ binge.”

“That can’t be healthy.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Clint agreed, taking a bite of his pizza. “But anyway, what’re you doing here? I thought you had S.H.I.E.L.D. business.”

“It’s over, for now. I have to head back first thing in the morning, but I thought I would try and get some sleep beforehand.” Coulson stole Clint’s coffee and took a drink.

“Did you?” Clint’s voice was muffled by the food in it. “Sleep, that is.”

Coulson’s lack of reply seemed to be enough of one for Clint.

“Why not?”

Coulson pondered his choices. He could lie, and Clint would know, give no answer and have it later pried out of him, or just resign himself to his fate and get it over with now.

He sighed, letting his shoulder slump, and Clint eyed him with concern as he began to speak. “Just… I had a dream about my death. I can’t help but remember what it felt like… to die.” Clint paled as he continued. “I was… it was just dark, and cold, and numb. I was helpless. I couldn’t stop myself from slipping away.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Coulson watched as Clint tried to formulate some response, some comfort, to give Coulson. But however hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to come up with anything.

Instead, Clint settled on throwing himself at Coulson in a hug, nearly causing Coulson to spill his coffee. Coulson gently set the coffee pot down on the table and placed his hand on Clint’s back.

Pushing his nightmare to the back of his mind, Coulson made the conscious effort to stay in the present, taking comfort in the fact that he was here, he was alive, and he had the closest person in the world to a son by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


	7. Sunday

_As the cockpit began to fill with water, Steve knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. He had always known, in the back of his mind, that chasing Red Skull onto the plane was a one-way ticket. But, in order to save millions of lives, he had to sacrifice himself._

_It was what he was made for, after all._

_The water level kept rising steadily, now even with Steve’s waist. The comms he had been talking to Peggy on sparked and fizzed out, leaving the console a useless hunk of metal. He started treading water, hoping to delay his fate long enough to find an exit hatch, anything to allow him a last-minute escape._

_There was nothing._

_The ice-cold water kept creeping up, and numbness began to set in to Steve’s appendages. He was cold, freezing, and it was taking all his strength to keep swimming._

_His control was slipping. Gradually, his legs stopped functioning, then his arms, and he sunk, deep into the icy depths of the water._

_Darkness encroached on his vision as water filled his lungs, and Steve was unable to do anything except surrender…_

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Steve was momentarily disoriented when he awoke, aware of a slight prickling in his limbs. Though he was covered in a comforter and an additional blanket, he was cold. It was on nights like this he wondered if he would ever truly escape the ice.

He reluctantly slid out from under his sheets, grabbing the hoodie he had thrown haphazardly at the end of the bed the night before and sliding it on. It lessened the sensation of cold, but not much. Nothing really did.

Grabbing his sketchpad and a few pencils, Steve left for the living room, closing his door quietly behind him. He needed a change of scenery, and he knew that drawing would at least help him redirect his thoughts, away from his “death.”

Steve sat down in one of the chairs Tony had purchased for the main living area following the Avengers moving in, propping his sketchbook against his knee and flipping through the pages to find the next blank one. Pencil in hand, he began to draw, pulling an image from his head and doing his best to transfer it to the paper.

He was working on shading his drawing when Tony came around the back of his seat and flopped down in the recliner next to him with a sigh. “Hey, Cap. What’cha doing?”

“Just working on a drawing.” Steve didn’t look up from his sketchbook. “You should be asleep, Tony. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you burning the midnight oil.” At the look of confusion on Tony’s face, Steve asked, “Do- do people not say that anymore?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before Tony spoke up again.

“Seriously, though, why are you ‘burning the midnight oil,’ as you so eloquently asked? I’d think your super-soldier body would need more rest than anyone else’s, except maybe Bruce’s.”

Steve really didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, let alone Tony, but it seemed that Tony wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Just… couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

“Why not?” Tony sounded genuinely curious, but then his tone turned teasing. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes.”

“What about?” Tony leaned forward in his chair to make eye contact with Steve. “Wait, let me guess. Your time as a Capsicle?”

Steve inadvertently winced and looked away. Tony immediately showed regret, and did his best to backpedal as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony kept repeating. He seemed almost panicked.

“It’s fine.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and took a moment to collect himself. This was what he had wanted to avoid. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have known better,” Tony muttered.

“We’ve all got problems,” Steve stated. “Really, Tony, it’s not your fault.”

Tony seemed somewhat recovered, but still slightly ashamed. “If it’s not too much to ask… what was it like? Getting frozen, that is. Not that you have to answer.”

Steve sighed. “Honestly? It was terrifying. I didn’t really ‘freeze’ to death. That was a part of it, sure, but I think I drowned first. I remember slowly sinking below the water level, my limbs so cold they were unable to respond. I remember choking on mouthfuls of water before eventually blacking out.”

He looked at Tony for his reaction, finding the man looking stunned. “Shit, Cap. That sounds awful.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Clearly you’re not. I mean, you still dream about that, and it was what? Seventy-plus years ago?” Tony had risen from his chair at this point and was pacing the floor in front of Steve.

“To me, it was about three and a half months ago,” Steve murmured, half-hoping Tony wouldn’t hear.

Tony did.

“Three and a half months!” Tony exclaimed. Steve tried to shush him, but to no avail. “You’re what, twenty?”

“Twenty-four,” Steve muttered, but it didn’t really matter. “We all have our trauma, Tony. That trauma made us who we are today. It shaped our path to become heroes.”

Tony flopped back into the armchair next to Steve. “It’s… it’s just not fair, you know? That our lives suck, but we’re still expected to go out each day with a smile on our face and save the world.”

Steve nodded. “It’s not fair. But we have to keep going, in the hope that it’ll get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this story draws to a close.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


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